£04 
C43o 
Co  p.£ 


(fentral  Ctordx  papers- 


No.  44. 


Central  Church , Chicago 


Issued  Weekly.  November  21,  1897.. 
Chicago Newell  Dwight  Hillis , Pastor , 


NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS. 


MAY  1 0 1937 


Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged. — Matt.  viliNIVERSlTY  OF  ILLINOIS 

If  a man  be  overtaken  in  a fault  restore  such  a one  in 
the  spirit  of  meekness;  considering  thyself  lest  thou  also  be 
tempted.  Bear  ye  one  another’s  burdens  and  so  fulfill  the 
law  of  Christ. — Gal.  vi.  1. 

Having  journeyed  away  from  the  ox  cart  and  the 
wooden  plow,  society  is  now  leaving  behind  the  old 
ideas  of  a gentleman.  The  age  that  believed  in 
witchcraft  and  astrology  also  believed  that  the  well- 
bred  man  was  one  who  lived  in  idleness,  upon  other 
people's  labor.  Plato’s  Beau  Brummel  was  one  who 
did  not  work  and  lived  in  refined  luxury  and  elegant 
ease.  Alcibiades’  social  pbsition  was  in  no  wise 
injured  by  his  reputation  as  a thief  and  a knave. 

Yet  had  this  perfumed  youth  entered  the  shop  or 
stood  in  the  stall  of  the  market-place  for  a few  hours 
each  day  his  handicraft  would  have  cost  him  all 
social  standing.  But  having  toiled  long  to  develop 
a new  art  and  industry,  a new  literature  and  govern- 
ment, our  age  has  also  fashioned  a new  idea  of  the 
gentleman.  Through  its  law  of  heredity  science 
has  lent  a thousand  new  meanings  to  the  phrase,  “ a 
well-bred  man.”  All  now  perceive  that  when  many 
physical  gifts  and  moral  graces  have  been  handed 

Copyright,  1897.  Fleming-  H.  Revell  Company. 


2 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


forward  by  descent,  at  last  a youth  stands  forth  pos- 
sessed of  the  fundamental  qualities  of  a gentleman — 
that  fineness  of  nerve  structure  that  renders  the  body 
capable  of  delicate  physical  sensations,  with  that 
fineness  of  mental  structure  that  renders  the  heart 
capable  of  delicate  sympathies.  For  never  again  can 
the  hero  be  a rude,  coarse  giant. 

Hercules,  whose  elephantine  strength  tore  a way 
through  forests  and  thickets,  and  whose  thick  skin 
was  all  unharmed  by  thorns  and  briers,  has  been  suc- 
ceeded by  King  Arthur,  whose  fine  skin  feels  the 
falling  of  a rose  leaf,  “ yet  subdued  his  feelings  in 
the  glow  of  battle,  and  bore  himself  like  iron.’'  It 
is  no  longer  enough  that  a hero  should  have  the 
courage  of  Richard  the  Lion-Hearted,  nor  the  en- 
durance of  the  Iron  Duke,  who  stood  “ four  square 
to  every  wind  that  blew,”  nor  even  the  secluded  in- 
nocence of  that  good  Prince  who  ever  “ wore  the 
white  flower  of  a blameless  life.”  To  the  iron  will, 
the  strong  arm  and  the  pure  mind  the  modern  hero 
must  add  the  kind,  sympathetic  heart.  Going  toward 
gianthood  he  must  also  go  toward  gentleness. 

The  ideal  man  has  so  refined  his  strength  that  he 
cannot  behold  a broken  reed,  a wounded  bird,  a 
bleeding  vine,  a running  deer  or  a barefoot  boy 
without  planning  some  deed  of  mercy  and  recovery. 
For  at  last  society  has  Christianized  its  ideal  of  a 
gentleman.  To  the  sword  of  the  warrior,  to  the  book 
of  the  scholar  and  the  tool  of  the  inventor,  the  ideal 
youth  will  add  the  great  heart  of  the  hero.  For 
what  sweetness  is  to  a lark,  what  perfume  is  to  a 
rose,  what  wisdom  is  to  the  intellect,  that  sympathy 
is  to  the  heart.  That  man  is  vulgar  whose  soul  is 
calloused,  whose  mind  is  blunted,  whose  conscience 
is  seared,  so  that,  being  without  'ear  or  horror  of 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS.  3 

evil,  he  is  also  without  pleasure  or  pity  touching 
things  good.  The  ideal  man  is  one  who  by  birth  and 
long  discipline  has  come  to  have  a heart  that  is  a 
magazine  of  kindnesses  and  sympathies. 

That  manhood  should  find  its  crown  and  corona- 
tion in  sympathy  and  sweet  considerateness  ought 
not  to  seem  a strange  thing.  History  tells  us  that 
always,  as  men  have  gone  toward  greatness,  they 
have  gone  toward  sympathy  and  forbearance  with 
others’  faults  and  frailties.  Lord  Byron  measured 
the  imagination  of  Dante  by  its  accompanying  pas- 
sion of  kindness.  Those  friends  who  feel  deepest 
with  our  woes  are  also  those  who  think  the  closest, 
pierce  the  farthest  and  hold  the  securest.  For  God 
hath  made  sympathy  to  be  the  parent  of  all  wisdom 
and  art,  of  eloquence  and  influence.  The  village 
paint-grinder  remains  such  for  want  of  sympathy 
with  nature.  But  Millet’s  fame  begins  with  his  great, 
deep  thirst  for  beauty.  Goethe,  standing  before  the 
immortal  pictures  in  the  Vatican,  was  not  so  intoxi- 
cated with  color  as  Millet,  standing  in  the  wheat 
field,  was  filled  with  joy  beholding  the  peasant  boys 
binding  the  golden  sheaves  or  following  the  great 
wagon  laden  with  ripe  grain  and  going,  creaking, 
toward  the  barn.  For  such  a one  as  Millet,  nature 
unveiled  loveliness  in  the  flower-girl  and  street-beg- 
gar, while  for  every  dull,  coarse  observer  Nature 
veils  her  loveliness  and  makes  even  Helen’s  brow  to 
be  as  dull  as  ashes,  as  dark  as  Egypt.  In  the  realm 
of  knowledge,  not  less  than  beauty,  sympathy  also  is 
the  great  teacher.  Faraday’s  discoveries.in  the  realm 
of  liquids,  gases  and  electricity  ask  for  pages. 
Questioned  as  to  the  secret  of  his  astonishing  career 
the  scientist  answered:  “I  followed  my  loves  and 
they  led  me  unto  fame  and  fortune.’’  It  seems  this 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


poor,  untaught  child  of  a blacksmith  was  appren- 
ticed to  a bookbinder,  who  bade  him  work  upon  a 
cyclopedia.  Glancing  at  each  passing  page  the  boy 
came  to  an  article  on  electricity  and  went  home  that 
night  to  plan  out  a simple  apparatus  of  his  own. 
Then,  soon,  passing  through  the  streets  on  an  errand, 
the  boy  saw  a placard  announcing  a lecture  upon 
electricity  and  begged  a gentleman  who  was  passing 
in  to  let  him  enter  also.  The  man  was  Sir  Humph- 
rey Davy,  who  afterward  said  of  that  meeting:  “ My 
greatest  discovery  was  the  discovery  of  Michael 
Faraday.”  As  a telephone  wire  in  one  house  makes 
it  possible  for  another  home  to  send  its  message  for- 
ward, so  there  was  a cord  of  sympathy  in  Faraday 
running  forth  to  every  clod  and  seed,  to  every  par- 
ticle of  coal  and  iron,  and  soon  all  nature  without 
was  flooding  his  mind  with  treasures  within.  At  54 
the  apprentice  was  president  of  the  Royal  Institute. 

It  was  that  principle  of  sympathy  also  with  the 
poor  and  weak  that  lent  greatness  to  reformers 
and  heroes,  statesmen  and  orators.  Harvard  college 
sent  forth  two  sons  of  supreme  gifts — Edward  Ever- 
ett and  Wendell  Phillips.  The  first  was  a scholar, 
in  literature  and  history  widely  read,  in  person  ele- 
gant, in  manners  most  accomplished,  in  voice  clear 
and  sweet.  But  there  was  no  sympathy  in  Everett's 
heart,  and  so  his  brilliant  sentences  flowed  forth  only 
as  polished  icicles,  and  he  stood  before  men  as  before 
castles  locked  and  barred  and  refusing  entrance. 
Wendell  Phillips  also  was  a patrician,  yet  sympathy 
for  the  weak  and  lowly  clothed  him  with  influence. 
Forsaking  all  ambition,  all  comfort,  all  dreams  of 
ease  and  luxury,  of  greatness  and  glory,  he  went 
forth  to  serve  Christ's  poor  and,  at  last,  when  sym- 
pathy had  led  him  into  his  life-work,  sympathy 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS.  5 

crowned  him  king.  In  literature  also  the  influence 
of  sympathy  has  been  most  powerful.  A century  ago 
all  English  works  were  filled  with  scoffs  and  sneers 
at  peasants  and  the  uneducated  poor. 

Fielding  and  Sterne  admitted  only  lords  and 
ladies  as  heroes  of  a book,  for  peasants  were  counted 
as  less  than  the  dirt  beneath  the  great  man’s  feet. 
Then  sympathy  came  in  and  gave  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe  a commission  to  plead  for  the  slave,  lent 
Dickens  power  to  plead  for  those  orphan  boys  in 
Fagin’s  den  and  Dotheboys  dungeon.  It  is  said  that 
if  a piano  is  struck  in  one  room,  while  another  instru- 
ment stands  untouched  in  the  hall,  he  who  lays  his 
ear  to  the  untouched  strings  will  find  the  wires,  as  if 
moved  upon  by  the  hand  of  a shadowy  spirit,  sound 
the  same  sweet  notes.  But  God  hath  shared  this 
gift  of  sympathy  with  his  earthly  children,  so  that 
one  heart  can  repeat  the  joys  or  sorrows  that  echo 
from  another  heart.  And  now,  through  sympathy, 
all  the  greatest  writers  have  consecrated  their  genius 
to  softening  the  lot  of  the  poor  and  lowly.  Happy 
is  that  man  who  does  for  the  discouraged  what  April 
rain  and  sunshine  do  for  the  flower  roots.  Those 
hearts  that  glowed  with  sympathy  for  men  move 
through  society  as  stars  move  through  the  sky 
above  bewildered  mariners. 

Because  sympathy  is  the  measure  of  manhood  and 
tests  civilization,  it  seems  easy  to  understand  why 
Christ  capitalized  the  duty  of  burden-bearing  and 
the  law  of  kindness  and  sympathy.  At  the  outset  of 
his  career  the  Divine  Teacher  asked  the  giant  to  bear 
the  burdens  of  children,  the  hero  to  guard  the  timid, 
the  cultured  to  lead  all  rude  persons  toward  refine- 
ment, the  happy  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  the  miser- 
able. And  if  during  past  centuries  society  has  gone 


6 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


rapidly  forward  it  has  been  because  the  Christian 
prince  has  thrown  wide  his  castle  gates  to  shelter 
peasants  from  their  pursuers;  because  brave  knights 
have  gone  forth  to  lift  their  shields  over  the  op- 
pressed; because  Sir  Launfal  has  dismounted  to  lend 
his  horse  to  the  fallen  pilgrim,  and  henceforth 
trudged  home  on  foot.  But  if  to-day  law  and  gov- 
ernment have  made  the  home  safe  and  the  granary 
secure,  we  must  not  suppose  there  remain  no  burdens 
to  be  borne.  Happiness  is  indeed  waxing  and  pov- 
erty and  ignorance  are  growing  less  and  less,  yet  full 
many  a social  burden  remains  to  be  lifted.  Here 
are  those  who  at  the  outset  were  handicapped  by 
some  hereditary  taint  of  body  or  disease  of  mind, 
and  so  have  toiled  against  heavy  odds,  and  oft  been 
stretched  upon  a rack  like  those  whose  cords  were 
tightened  by  some  cruel  inquisitor.  These  know 
that  a bad  birth  is  a great  burden.  And  here  is  the 
man  who  in  his  youthful  days  was  offered  a great 
opportunity,  but  who  pushed  aside  his  books  and 
despised  the  college,  to  find  in  middle  life  that  he 
had  been  like  that  foolish  passenger  who  allowed  his 
pearls  to  slip  through  his  fingers  into  the  deep  sea 
and  whose  burden  is  that  oft  he  wakens  at  midnight 
to  cry:  “ But  for  my  folly  I should  have  been  pub- 

licist or  merchant  or  teacher,  instead  of  an  obscure 
drudge!” 

Many  peasant  boys  there  are  cabined  by  poverty 
and  confined  by  circumstances,  yet  conscious  of 
great  power,  who  oft  hurl  themselves  against  the 
bars  of  their  cage.  But  the  youth  finds  one  door 
after  another  closed  against  his  advancing  feet,  un- 
til at  last  he  grows  dull-eyed  and  depressed,  and, 
losing  his  spirit,  sinks  back  crushed  and  broken, 
knowing  that  henceforth  study  will  never  hew  his 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS.  7 

rough  block  into  a statue,  that  his  raw  silk  will  never 
go  toward  fine  tapestry.  And  here  is  the  man  who 
by  honor  and  thrift  achieved  his  competence  and 
career  and  bought  all  with  an  unsullied  name  and 
came  back  from  his  hard-earned  holiday  to  find  that 
all  had  been  lost  through  the  deceit  of  a trusted 
friend  or  the  bribery  of  a public  enemy.  And  here 
is  Browning’s  friend  whose  burden  was  the  torment 
of  a great  sweet  hope.  For,  loving,  he  received  no 
return,  and,  at  last,  broken-hearted,  he  bent  over  the 
fair  face  now  forever  silent,  of  whom  the  poet  said: 
“He  loved,  but  it  was  not  her  time  to  love.  He 
must  now  hope  she  will  some  time  waken,  remember 
and  understand.”  Here  is  the  merchant  or  states- 
man, the  orator  or  leader,  who  yesterday  moved  for- 
ward, keeping  step  with  the  foremost,  upon  whom 
disaster  or  ill-health  laid  its  hand,  and  who  is  now 
like  a brave  soldier  doomed  to  lie  upon  his  cot  and 
listen  to  the  roar  of  battle  in  the  distance.  And 
some  there  are  whose  burden  is  monotony,  who 
seem,  like  these  slaves,  compelled  to  carry  stones  up 
the  hill  and  then  back  into  the  valley,  whose  life  is 
dull  of  infinite  commonplaces,  whose  career  is  toned 
to  low  tints  of  drab,  their  days  insipid,  their  tasks 
without  spice,  who  are  stimulated  by  no  danger, 
and  provoked  by  no  martyrdoms,  who  count  their 
silence  and  obscurity  to  be  a great  burden.  And  the 
burden  of  others  is  that  love  was  given  and  with- 
drawn again,  to  whom  came  the  sweet  babe  of  the 
dear  friend,  and  now  that  the  gift  is  gone,  they 
cannot  understand  what  is  meant  when  the  friend 
whispers:  “ Should  an  artist  send  to  your  home  for 

a twelvemonth  the  Dresden  Madonna  to  ask  it  again 
after  a year,  would  not  its  memory  be  a glorious 
possession  forever?”  And,  not  understanding,  these 


8 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


move  forward  carrying  a great  secret  pain.  Oh, 
heavy  are  life's  burdens!  Oft  the  load  seems  more 
than  man  can  bear.  Even  to  self-reliant  natures 
there  come  hours  of  defeat  and  bitter  sorrow,  when 
one  touch  from  a warm  hand  and  one  look  from  eyes 
full  of  sympathy  are  gifts  beyond  the  weight  of  gold. 
What  balm  hath  sympathy!  What  a medicine  is 
mercy!  Christ’s  tears  can  dissolve  man’s  woes. 

The  faults  and  frailties  of  men  ask  for  sympathy 
and  considerateness.  Unfortunately  the  characters 
of  even  the  noblest  and  best  men  are  often  marred 
by  weaknesses  and  foibles.  History  tells  us  of  many 
warriors  and  leaders  who  have  survived  the  shock  of 
battle  and  recovered  from  overwhelming  adversities, 
only  to  go  down  at  last  before  the  resistless  might 
of  accumulated  faults  and  errors.  It  is  given  to 
small  vices  to  drain  away  the  riches  of  character 
faster  than  virtue  can  accumulate.  Where  one  Ben- 
edict Arnold  is  ruined  by  a single  breach  of  dramatic 
fidelity,  scores  of  noble  youths  are  destroyed  by  tri- 
fling deflections  from  honor;  little  infringements  of 
the  laws  of  truthfulness;  minute  treacheries  and 
small  sins  against  integrity.  Nevertheless  a ship 
can  be  sunk  by  tiny  worms  boring  through  timbers, 
as  surely  as  by  a cannon  ball  crashing  through  the 
prow.  One  flaw  ruins  the  gem.  A single  stain  de- 
stroys the  beauty  of  the  marble.  The  time  was  when 
vices  were  freely  forgiven  to  men  of  genius.  Only 
let  the  man  achieve  fame  as  a dramatist  or  poet  or 
statesman  and  society  would  make  haste  to  weave  a 
veil  to  hide  his  faults,  a cloak  to  conceal  his  sins. 
For  the  sake  of  his  splendid  intellect  what  excesses 
are  forgiven  to  Shelley  or  Coleridge!  Indeed,  in- 
tellectual brilliancy  casts  such  a glamour  upon  the 
page  that  opium-eating,  so  disgusting  in  the  Chinese, 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS.  9 

becomes  almost  attractive  in  De  Quincy,  while  the 
drinking-songs  of  Robert  Burns  are  so  entrancing 
that  men  are  half-glad  of  the  vices  that  encouraged 
the  poet  to  write  these  songs.  But  it  is  not  the  wine 
cup  that  lends  a charm  to  the  song  to  “ Mary  in 
Heaven  ” or  “ The  Daisy.”  Rather  was  it  the  poet’s 
pathos,  his  flaming,  flashing  wit,  and  the  stormy 
splendor  of  his  rosy  youth  and  his  tumultuous  gen- 
ius. Nor  were  the  hidings  of  Shelley’s  power  in  his 
vices.  Self-control,  poise  and  a sane  spirit  would 
have  expelled  the  vices  from  his  life  indeed  and  per- 
haps the  hysteria  and  fever  from  his  finest  poems. 

In  one  of  his  letters  Robert  Burns  says  that 
almost  the  only  noble-minded  men  he  “ had  ever 
met  were  among  the  class  called  blackguards.”  For 
a long  time  society  has  been  under  the  influence  of 
Burns’  theory.  Now,  fortunately,  there  is  a reaction 
and  men  perceive  that  the  vices  that  are  easily  par- 
donable in  small  men  are  utterly  inexcusable  in  the 
children  of  greatness.  Our  youth  has  suffered  an 
immeasurable  injury  from  the  belief  that  the  vices 
of  Coleridge  and  De  Quincy  and  Burns  have  given 
us  a charming  chapter  in  literature.  Charles  Dudley 
Warner  was  tempted  to  become  a sot,  when  he  re- 
flected that  versatility  and  a high  order  of  talent  are 
invariably  ascribed  to  men  of  modest  ability,  once 
they  are  habitually  drunk.  Men  have  formed  the 
habit  of  describing  habitual  drunkards  as  ideal  fath- 
ers and  ideal  citizens — high-minded  men,  who  would 
be  conscientious  friends  unceasing  if  they  were  not 
so  conscientiously  and  unceasingly  drunk.  The  es- 
sayist was  deeply  pained  when  he  reflected  what  an 
excess  of  genius  there  would  be  to-day  if  the  habit 
of  intoxication  should  suddenly  cease — a fear  that 
was  mitigated  by  the  fact  that  the  reputation 


10 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


for  greatness  generally  ends  where  sobriety  begins. 
The  time  has  come  when  men  understand  that  he 
who  receives  strength  and  greatness  is  not  released 
from  the  law  of  high-living,  but  rather  obligated 
thereto.  Men  are  still  hero-worshipers.  There  is 
an  increasing  reverence  for  public  men  who  repre- 
sent greatness  and  power.  Yet  let  it  be  whispered 
that  falsity  runs  through  the  man's  life  and  in  a mo- 
ment his  greatness  is  dwarfed,  his  authority  impaired 
and,  instead  of  being  a king,  he  stands  forth  in  the 
form  of  a cringing  slave!  And  once  the  evil  deed 
is  discovered,  how  swiftly  it  is  proclaimed  upon  the 
house-tops,  while  all  the  unchained  instruments  for 
propagating  truth  are  now  degraded  to  proclaim  the 
man’s  frailty  and  fault!  And  yet  perhaps  none  hath 
suffered  so  keenly  as  the  man  himself.  Perchance 
in  an  unsuspected  moment  he  was  ambushed  by 
temptation,  as  that  English  traveler  in  the  jungle  of 
India,  when  the  tiger  sprang  forth  from  the  thicket. 
In  a single  weak  and  unguarded  moment  he  may 
have  fallen,  just  as  the  Scottish  castle  was  captured 
by  the  soldiers  creeping  up  the  rocks  at  midnight 
when  they  knew  the  garrison  had  been  exhausted  by 
double  duty.  Upon  the  prairies  of  the  great  West 
boys  set  steel  traps  for  the  grouse.  Caught  between 
the  iron  bars  the  beautiful  little  bird  lies  helpless 
and  with  bleeding  wings  beats  its  life  out  against  the 
frozen  ground.  What  sympathy  we  have  for  wounded 
birds!  What  tenderness  for  soldiers  fired  upon  by 
guerrillas  hidden  behind  tree  or  rock!  And  do  not 
temptations  leap  forth  upon  men  with  all  the  cruelty 
of  wolves  and  panthers?  Do  not  fiery  temptations 
sometimes  sweep  our  men  as  billows  of  flames  sweep 
over  the  prairies?  Once  more,  for  all  earthly  chil- 
dren, sounds  forth  Christ’s  word:  “If  a man  be  over- 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS. 


II 


taken  in  a fault,  restore  him — lest  thou  thyself  be 
tempted.” 

Sadly  must  it  be  confessed  that  our  age  is  harsh 
in  its  judgments,  cruel  in  its  criticism  and  brutal  in 
its  blaming.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  nation 
has  suffered  so  grievously  from  the  cynical  and 
supercilious  spirit.  To  what  degree  this  critical  tem- 
per has  developed  in  America  is  indicated  by  the 
fall,  not  of  man,  but  of  a single  word.  The  time  was 
when  the  word  “ criticise  ” meant  to  praise.  Then, 
when  the  master  entered  the  gallery  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  a picture  or  statue,  to  criticise  the  work 
meant  to  select  whatever  was  praiseworthy  in  color 
and  hue  or  lustrous  in  face  and  form.  Then  faults 
were  condemned  only  after  the  fashion  of  Angelo, 
who  first  encouraged  his  pupil  by  pointing  out  the 
excellences  in  his  work  and  afterward  sketching  an 
ideal  face,  leaving  that  perfect  work  to  correct  the 
youth’s  imperfect  lines.  But,  puffed  up  with  pride, 
the  Saxon  people  came  to  practice  the  art  of  with- 
holding all  praise.  The  Puritan  father  tempted  to 
praise  the  table  or  parlor,  restrained  his  lips,  and 
even  though  the  parent’s  heart  was  bursting  with 
pride  over  the  child’s  success,  whips  and  cords  would 
not  extract  a single  word  of  praise  for  the  boy  or  girl 
perishing  for  a word  of  approval.  Slowly  our  race 
set  itself  about  the  task  of  exterminating  praise  and 
the  development  of  skill  in  searching  out  whatever 
merits  blame.  Soon  that  beautiful  word,  to  “ criti- 
cise,” came  to  mean  “to  blame.”  “ Criticise”  is  a 
fallen  word,  and  seems  like  a star  that  once  blazed 
in  the  sky,  but  whose  brightness  is  now  quenched  in 
the  slough.  Once  started,  the  critical  spirit  increased 
rapidly  through  the  principle  of  reaction.  In  old 
England,  as  in  the  Germany  of  to-day,  our  fathers 


12 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


knew  that  any  untrue  criticism  would  be  punished 
with  imprisonment.  But  with  the  libertythat  followed 
the  Revolution  men  passed  swiftly  to  the  luxury  of 
besmirching  every  official  and  lampooning  every 
public  citizen. 

So  rapidly  did  this  critical  spirit  increase  that  in 
1793  the  journal  that  opposed  Washington  called 
“Franklin  a fool  by  age  and  Washington  a fool  by  na- 
ture.” This  harshness  of  speech  reached  its  culmi- 
nation in  the  late  election,  when  an  editor  in  Louisi- 
ana spoke  of  the  opposing  candidate  as  “ a thief,  a 
knave,  a cheat,  a sponge  and  parasite,  a murderer  in 
thought  and  not  in  fact  only  by  reason  of  his 
personal  cowardice.”  When  analyzed  the  ground 
of  the  criticism  was  found  to  be  this:  The  Demo- 
cratic editor  and  the  Republican  candidate  dif- 
fered with  respect  to  the  tariff,  one  holding  to  40 
percent  and  the  other  to  46  percent  as  the 
proper  proportion.  Also  of  necessity  in  the  repub- 
lic where  each  citizen  must  pass  on  men  and  meas- 
ures, men  come  together  to  ask  what  is  financial 
truth,  what  is  economic  truth,  what  are  social  and 
political  truths.  And  going  up  into  the  judgment 
seats  they  analyze  parties,  platforms  and  policies. 
Then  slowly  the  press  developed  personal  interviews. 
Soon  all  privacy  of  life  was  threatened,  and  the  pub- 
lic gossips  entered  the  parlor,  the  study,  the  hall  and 
chamber,  until  the  whole  nation  suffered  degrada- 
tion and  the  level  of  our  civilization  has  been  low- 
ered. If  the  skies  should  suddenly  cease  to  send 
down  dew  and  soft  showers  and  begin  to  rain  nitric 
acid  and  oil  of  vitriol,  we  should  have  that  which  is 
analogous  to  the  critical  spirit  in  he  republic — that 
scalds,  burns  and  consumes  the  finer  feelings  which 
and  sentiments. 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS.  1 3 

Since  daily  it  is  necessary  to  sit  in  judgment  upon 
men  and  measures,  let  us  also  confess  the  need  of 
leniency  and  considerateness  in  judgment.  Children 
of  good  fortune  there  are,  born  with  no  vicious  taint 
and  blessed  with  good  health  and  plenty,  who  seem 
like  placid  lakes  where  every  wind  of  evil  is  term 
pered  by  protecting  forests.  But  others  there  are 
whose  voyage  is  through  a crowded  harbor,  where 
are  ships  of  war  and  peace,  where  swirling  currents 
meet  and  hidden  rocks  do  lie  across  the  path.  From 
birth  many  are  doomed  to  fight  with  a hereditary 
foe.  The  father  was  full  of  pride  and  selfishness* 
and  the  mother  had  an  iron  will,  and,  dying,  each 
left  the  personal  trait  within  the  child,  where  the  two 
opposing  forces  create  perpetual  storm.  In  the 
North  Alaskan  channel  arctic  tides  come  down 
from  the  north  and  the  tropic  currents  go  up  from 
the  south  and,  meeting  between  the  granite  walls, 
the  currents  swirl  and  boil  and  toss  the  boats  about 
like  shells,  and  happy  the  mariner  then  who  escapes 
with  his  life.  Not  otherwise  is  it  when  northern 
races,  cold,  hard  and  self-willed,  meet  the  rich,  warm 
floods  of  the  tropic  races.  And  when  these  tenden- 
cies are  combined  in  one  and  the  same  child,  what 
sympathy  should  society  feel  for  this  one,  whose  life 
career  will  perchance  soon  be  wrecked  and  the  craft 
go  to  the  bottom?  Two  hundred  years  ago  there 
was  a miser  whose  avarice  was  his  joy,  who  ate 
crusts  that  he  might  sell  wheat  for  gold,  wore  rags 
for  gold,  lived  in  a hovel  for  gold’s  sake;  for  gain 
lifted  his  reason  against  men,  as  an  ax  is  lifted  against 
the  tree,  and  could  not  die  easy  until  his  poor,  starved 
wife  slipped  a coin  between  the  stiffening  fingers, 
when  the  miser  passed  peacefully  away.  And  then 
the  covetous  taint  passed  forward  and  reappeared 


14 


SYMPATHIES  WITH 


in  this  modern  youth  who,  in  a weak  hour,  intending 
to  correct  the  wrong,  defrauds  his  employer.  And 
afterward  he  would  have  washed  the  stain  away  with 
though  tears  of  blood,  men  had  no  sympathy  and 
cast  him  out  for  his  fault.  Nor  will  any  bear  his 
burden. 

And  other  men  there  are  in  whom  the  forces  of 
generosity,  good-fellowship,  laughter  and  humor 
meet  and  move  forward,  rising  like  mountain  fresh- 
ets and  sweep  all  before  them.  The  faults  of  such 
men  are  but  the  shadows  that  their  virtues  cast;  their 
frailties,  overripe  goodness.  For  as  the  juiciest  peach 
is  attacked  by  the  wasp,  so  the  finest  natures  are 
often  most  sorely  tempted.  But  men  have  no  skill 
in  sympathy  and  do  not  practice  the  art  of  putting 
themselves  in  the  brother’s  place,  and  unfortunately 
the  tendency  is  for  man  to  lift  up  his  own  strongest 
faculty  and  gift  and  use  it  for  measuring  his  brother 
who  is  without  this  special  grace.  Here  is  a man 
who  is  so  evenly  balanced  in  nerve  and  muscle  and 
stomach  that  health  and  humor  and  vivacity  bubble 
in  his  eyes,  overflow  on  his  lips,  and  good-nature  is  the 
very  necessity  of  his  being.  He  moves  forward  like 
a meadow  brook,  placid  and  prattling  upon  its 
smooth  and  easy  way.  And  then  this  good-natured 
man  sits  in  judgment  upon  some  dyspeptic  Carlyle, 
whose  every  nerve  is  a perpetual  irritation,  in  whom 
one  minute  of  silence  and  good-nature  represents 
more  virtue  and  self-control  than  a year  of  laughter 
in  his  big,  fat  brother,  whose  every  nerve  is  cushioned 
in  soft  oil  and  cuticle.  Those  who  climb  the  Mat- 
terhorn dig  steps  in  the  ice  and  slowly  work  their 
way  from  one  ledge  to  another,  clinging  by  their 
finger-tips.  And  there  are  men  whose  upward 
growth  represents  perpetual  conflict, who  always  must 


OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS  AND  FAILINGS.  1 5 

dread  the  abyss,  in  whom  twenty  evil  ancestors  con- 
spire to  pull  them  down.  How  are  some  men  handi- 
capped! Against  what  odds  do  they  toil  upward! 
How  cruel  are  the  judgments  men  pass  upon  them! 
How  do  men  hurl  epithets  of  scorn,  as  of  old  men 
hurled  spears  and  poisoned  arrows.  Savages  prac- 
ticed the  art  of  torturing  captives,  but  the  cruel  in- 
stinct should  now  be  expelled  from  man. 

In  this  era  of  class  hatred  and  social  strife  the 
need  of  the  hour  is  for  sympathy,  forbearance  and 
sweet  considerateness.  For  even  in  the  worst  man 
there  is  some  spark  of  good,  and  as  for  years  men 
tramped  through  the  fields  and  forests,  not  dream- 
ing of  the  coal  and  iron  treasures  beneath,  so  do  we 
go  forward,  little  suspecting  the  wealth  of  goodness 
hidden  under  men’s  failings.  For  a full  century 
Shakespeare  slept  in  the  libraries  of  England  and 
was  utterly  unrecognized.  One  day  a German 
scholar  discovered  the  dramatist  and  suddenly  Eng- 
land awakened  to  the  consciousness  of  her  literary 
treasure.  But  men  are  blinded  by  prejudice,  and 
injured  by  scorn  and  contempt  and  know  not  that 
even  in  each  Fagin  or  Jean  Valjean  there  are  hours 
when  some  noble  impulse  stirs  even  as  on  decaying 
logs  some  flower  springs.  Cynicism  is  a frost  that 
slays  all  blossoms  of  the  heart,  while  sympathy  is 
the  genial  air  of  spring  that  leads  summer  out  of 
winter.  We  have  read  of  a mother  who  had  a word 
for  all  erring  ones,  whose  son  exclaimed,  “ Mother 
would  speak  a good  word  for  the  devil,”  to 
which  she  answered,  “ My  son,  I would  you  and  I 
were  as  diligent  in  our  duties  as  the  devil  is  in  his.” 
For  even  Satan  has  one  good  habit — regularity. 
Happy  the  community  blessed  with  a few  genial, 
sunny,  sympathetic  souls.  For  kindness  can  work 


l6  SYMPATHIES  WITH  OTHER  MEN’S  FAULTS. 

strange  transformations.  For  it  is  given  to  iove  to 
melt  selfishness  as  the  sun  melts  icicles  from  the 
boughs  of  spring.  It  is  given  to  sympathy  to  soften 
the  hard  heart  as  rain  softens  the  clods  of  the  field. 
It  is  given  to  kindness  to  lead  the  prodigal  back 
from  his  husks  to  the  father’s  house.  Therefore  put 
away  all  arrowy  sentences  and  all  poisoned  speech,, 
cast  out  all  harshness  and  severity  of  judgment.  For 
these  erring,  failing,  faulty  men  are  the  children  of 
God,  who  marks  their  heart  throbs,  notes  every  tear,, 
aches  after  each  prodigal  who  hath  fallen  in  the  way. 
How  tender  his  sympathy  who  said:  “The  bruised 

reed  I will  not  break,  the  smoking  flax  I will  not 
quench!”  And  if  men  are  to  be  God’s  children,  they, 
too,  must  bear  the  burdens  of  the  weak,  carry  the 
sorrows  of  the  poor,  love  the  unlovely,  forgive  the 
hateful,  for  so  shall  “ we  fulfill  the  law  of  Christ.” 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS  — URBANA 


N301 12086085104A 


SPECIAL  NOTE:  These  papers  are  published  weekly 

— “ “™ “ ————————  and  may  be  obtained  from  Fleming 

H.  Revell  Company,  63  Washington  Street*  Chicago,  at  the 
following  rates: 

Single  copies,  - $ *03  By  mail,  - $ *05 

12  copies,  - *35  44  - *50 

100  “ - 2.50  “ - 3.00 

Numbers  previous  to  No . 41  cannot  be  supplied . 


